


Free

by capiocapi



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, before post-credits scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14005845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capiocapi/pseuds/capiocapi
Summary: This is what I imagine happened when Bucky first got out of cryo in Wakanda. Takes place sometime before the post-credits scene in Black Panther.





	Free

Shuri is the first person Bucky sees when he’s taken out of cryo, and the first thing she tells him is that she’s fixed his brain. 

He wants to be relieved, he really does, but the truth is that he just isn’t sure he can believe it. She must see the hesitation on his face because she tells him that she’ll prove it. Cap left her the code words that triggered his mind control, and she explains that she’ll simply recite them and then show him that even after hearing the words, she won’t be able to compel him to do anything.

The thought sends him into a panic.

Because even though he knows - he knows that these are good people. He knows he can trust them. He knows that T’Challa has been nothing but kind in granting him refuge in his country and getting his sister to work on a cure for him. 

Even though he knows they’d never order him to do something horrible.

After years… decades of hearing those words and knowing what was about to happen, what always happened - he panics.

He begs her not to say the words. At least not until he’s behind some kind of force field or in vibranium shackles - anything. Even though it makes no sense. Even though he’d only hurt them if they ordered him to. Even though he can tell by the look on the young girl’s face that she’s completely confident that whatever she did to his brain worked.

But he just can’t. He can’t let them say the words unless he’s secured. Every single time he’s ever been triggered - more times than he can even begin to count - he’s had to do things he didn’t want to do. Triggering his programing has always meant death, destruction, evil. He can’t stomach the idea of bringing that to this place where the people have been so good to him.

In the end, Shuri agrees - for his sake, she says, not because she has any doubt that her cure worked. She takes him out to some remote area away from the city. 

It’s a beautiful place. Peaceful. Remote. There are a several small houses scattered around the edge of a large clearing. Along one side of the clearing, a river flows, quietly gliding over rocks. 

As far as Bucky can tell, though, the nearby houses are empty. Or at least unoccupied for the moment. T’Challa has come too, and now escorts Bucky to the center of the clearing. 

“Are you certain that you want these?” He asks, holding out what appear to be vibranium restraints of some kind.

“Yes,” he says quietly, but with all the conviction he can muster. “Please don’t let me hurt anyone.”

The Wakandan king glances over at his sister, kindly refraining from repeating what she’s already pointed out: even if the deprogramming failed, they wouldn’t order him to hurt anyone. Still, Bucky can’t shake the association. He’d probably try to rip off his own head off if he heard the words without knowing for sure that he was safely restrained.

So T’Challa binds him, arm and legs, there in the center of the clearing. Shuri gets out a tablet where she has the words written, and starts reciting them in a perfect Russian accent.

But as his heart starts to pound and he breath gets short, it doesn’t occur to him to ask her how she got so good at languages. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, flexing and unflexing his fist, pulling at the restraints, testing their strength. _Please hold, please hold, please hold…_

_Please don’t let me hurt anyone… please let this work… pleasepleaseplease…_

By the time she’s at the second-to-last word, he’s panting so hard that she has to raise her voice to make sure he hears her. His eyes are squeezed so tight that he’s not even sure where he is anymore.

Finally, she says the last word and… the unnatural calm that normally overtakes him by this point is absent. He’s still panting. He vaguely hears her say “soldier” in Russian, but his programmed response doesn’t come.

He cracks his eyes open carefully and tries to slow his breathing. It’s almost too bright after having them squeezed shut for so long, but he can see Shuri standing there next to her brother.

She approaches carefully and says, “Take off your shoes. I’m going to paint your toenails.”

The abrupt confusion shocks him like a bucket of ice water over his head. “What?”

She does something on her tablet, and his shackles fall away. “Take off your shoes.”

“I… why do you want to paint my toenails?” His brain, muddled from his recent panic, struggles to catch up. Was this some kind of Wakandan ritual? Would they be offended if he declined?

Suddenly Shuri chuckles, and the sound is bright and sure. “You didn’t even try to obey me!”

And it hits him like a freight train. He didn’t obey. He’d felt confused, but absolutely no desire to comply. 

He was free. For the first time in decades, he was free.

He slumps sideways, face to the ground and weeps.

Eventually, tears spent, he rolls onto his back and gazes up at the bright blue Wakandan sky. He feels like he’s just been reborn.

He pushes himself up again, wiping his face as he senses someone approach. It’s T’Challa.

“Congratulations, Sergeant Barnes. Your life is yours again.”

He shakes his head, half to try to clear it, and half in denial. Whatever’s left of his life, he owes it all to Wakanda. To the people who’d taken him in and helped him when he had absolutely nothing to offer them. To Shuri and T’Challa who’d saved him without any mention of repayment.

He clears his throat, lungs still hitching as he tries to take a deep breath. “I can’t thank you enough. There has to be something I can do…”

“While I appreciate your gratitude, it’s unnecessary. We are glad that we were able to give you back to yourself.”

He hears Shuri’s voice from somewhere behind her brother. “I like chocolate!”

Bucky snorts and wiped his eyes again with small smile. 

T’Challa offers his hand to help him up. “Come, let me show you where you can rest.”

And they take him into one of the nearby houses. “This house is yours as long as you wish to stay in Wakanda. Rest, heal, and before you know it, my sister will be summoning you to fit you for a new arm.”

Shuri, who’s followed them into the house adds, “The programming is gone, but you do need to rest. You’ll be more tired than usual for a few days while your brain adjusts. And my brother is right - I’ll call for you soon and let you look at some of my designs. I’ll want your input before I produce anything.”

The tears start filling his eyes again. “I… I…” he’s so overwhelmed with gratitude that he can’t even get the words out.

T’Challa squeezes his good shoulder. “Don’t thank us for the house just yet, my friend. Many curious children live in this area. They will all be anxious to meet you. You may find that this place isn’t quite as remote and peaceful as it appears now, once they are all home.”

Bucky can only shake his head because how could they understand? How could they know what it was like to live as a puppet for years, forced to do unspeakable things and completely powerless to stop it. 

“You… you have no idea what you’ve done for me. Honestly… I… yeah. Kids won’t bother me.”

“We’ll let you get your rest then. Congratulations again, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky sinks down onto the bed in the small room as the other two leave. 

“Our doors don’t lock here, so be prepared for visits from those children that don’t bother you!” Shuri calls gleefully from outside the house.

He lays back onto the bed, reveling in the feeling of freedom. He really does owe everything to these people. The kids can come and visit him if they want. 

He’ll find a way to repay T’Challa and Shuri and their people somehow.


End file.
